


Body Talk

by rudbeckia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Community: Kylux Cantina, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Kylux Cantina theme: The Body.These fics will all be set somewhere in canonverse (with a few liberties) and in chronological order. Title is from a song by one of myfavourite 80s bandsPrompts used:1. The swimsuit edition of the First Order Illustrated.Someone has been spreading rumours about Hux, backed up wth photographic evidence. Hux has Mitaka and Opan on the case, but it is Kylo Ren who pieces together the evidence. (Literally).2. Body image insecurityHux decides to recreate the photographs from the catalogue page in private. He is not happy with the result and enlists unlikely help to improve his physique3. MassageHux has been exercising. Hard. Ren notices and offers relief.





	1. Catalogue of Disasters

Four lieutenants and a major leap to attention and salute as General Armitage Hux enters the observation deck and stands by the floor-to-ceiling tessellation of transparisteel viewports. He looks for all the galaxy as if he is surveying conquered space and wondering already how to push at what lies beyond its boundaries. Eyes reflecting steel blue-grey from the dim illumination that plays over the wedge of The Finalizer’s hull, he stares out into the blackness, stars too faint and too distant to light the heavens, and barely blinks. 

The junior officers resume their hushed conversation as soon as they are secure that the general is neither ordering them to leave nor demanding that they give up their precious few leisure hours to perform additional duties. Still, they don’t linger. As the door hisses open to allow them to leave and lets in a shaft of yellow glare from the corridor, another figure scurries in and salutes.  
“General Hux! Sir.”  
“What is it, lieutenant?” Hux doesn’t move. It’s only Mitaka, hand-picked to serve on the Hux team due to his top of the class performance and utter lack of guile. He has shown himself loyal to the point of stupidity and Hux anticipates he’ll need replacing soon. The nervous man hadn’t even the sense to delegate the task of delivering bad news to Kylo Ren to some other unfortunate.  
“Sir, I believe I have discovered the source of the leaked, um, document.”  
“Oh?” Hux turns and glares at Mitaka. “Then I demand that you tell me!”  
Mitaka clasps his hands behind his back and stares at his own boots.  
“I believe the culprit is Captain Peavey.”  
Hux clenches his fists and bares his teeth. “Why that nerf-herding, thick-skulled oaf of a—“ Hux catches himself on the brink of throwing a Ren-like tantrum and calms himself with several deep breaths.  
“Thank you, lieutenant. That will be all.”  
Hux comms Captain Opan with a terse message. Opan acknowledges immediately and Hux is satisfied that the vile rumours about his Academy days will be cut off at the source.

Hux turns to leave but the door opens again and another figure stalks in. This figure is neither a junior officer on a break nor one of Hux’s sycophants. He nods a bare greeting.  
“Ren.”  
“General.”  
Ren stands beside Hux and looks out at nothing. Hux looks at Ren for a few seconds. Ren is smiling and it’s a strange sight. Hux frowns, but Ren’s amusement is all the more obvious.  
“What’s got into you, Ren?”  
“Nothing,” replies Ren, a snigger escaping as he speaks. “I was merely reflecting on how different our lives have been. Here I am, educated in an atmosphere of repressed asceticism, the Supreme Leader of the First Order. And you, schooled in the finest Academy tradition, by my side.”  
“I do not see the funny side of that,” snaps Hux. “If you have a point, get to it.”  
“Oh, I will.” Ren sidesteps closer. “It’s amusing because while I desperately wanted to earn some credits to get off that rock, you were earning credits helping others get their rocks off.”

Before Hux can channel his rage into a reply, Ren hands him a scrap of flimsi, a scrap torn from a page. On it, in gloriously saturated colour, is a photograph of a slim redhead in very brief swimwear. Hux feels the fire of his anger drop into the burn of shame and he wishes the transparisteel would fail and lose them both in the cold, airless void beyond.  
“Where,” he says in a whisper, “did you get this?”  
“Come with me,” says Ren, “and I will show you the rest.”

Hux follows Ren to his suite with his heart pumping hard and cold dread in his stomach. Inside, Ren pulls a slim file from his desk drawer and opens it on the surface. Hux lets his mouth hang open for a second at the revelation of a patchwork of photographs, carefully fitted together and secured with transparent tape.  
“I had every last copy of that... _publication_ accounted for and destroyed,” Hux says, blinking rapidly against the tears that threaten to shame him further. “Every last one.”  
“All but this one, general.” Ren points at a photograph in which the slim redheaded model is almost bent double to pick up a beach-ball, facing partly away from the camera. His long, pale legs are parted and he looks back with an upside-down smile. Ren laughs. “I find this pose particularly fetching although this model’s scrawny legs are not to my taste. That one was in Peavey’s possession. He kept it in his ‘fresher.”

Hux closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to settle his heaving stomach.  
“What do you want for it.” he asks, voice flat. “Supreme Leader, what do I have to do to see it destroyed?”  
Ren frowns at Hux. “I have no intention of selling this, Hux. Surely you know me better than that?”  
“You plan to use this to destroy me?” Hux sinks to the floor. “A minor indiscretion because I was too trusting, that’s all it was, Ren. I needed credits because my father threatened to cease my sponsorship and have me thrown out of school. I was told it was a modelling job. Beachwear. A day spent at a beachside property on one day of rare and glorious Arkanis sunshine. Does my naivety cancel out everything else I have achieved since?”  
“Ah.” Ren closes the file and leans on his desk. “You misunderstand. I am not blackmailing you. I wanted... As you can see from the gaps there are two images unaccounted for. Once I have them, consider it a gift from me to you.”


	2. Mirror, mirror

Hux stands in front of his mirror admiring the straight lines of the pleats of his robe. It clings softly from padded shoulders to waist, where a cord knotted at his side cinches it. The ends of the cord hang evenly to just above his knee. The skirt of the robe flares a little from his waist to just above the floor. Wearing it gives Hux the illusion of graceful bulk: it’s a flattering cut and he knows it.

He thinks about what he has planned to do next and shakes his head at his own reflection.  
“This is trivial,” he tells himself aloud. “It is as valuable as a bucket of sand on Jakku.”  
He’s teetering on the brink of deciding not to bother, but the corner of the gaudy page of patchwork flimsi catches his eye and his face sets hard. He pulls the pieced-together catalogue page from its file. Ren has kept his promise by delivering the file in person only an hour earlier with all the images accounted for. The last one Ren said he plucked from Mitaka’s hand while the lieutenant turned puce and struggled for breath, then hung his head and apologised for _keeping it somewhere safe so that I would not be caught with it in my possession, sir._ Hux files that information away with Ren’s smirking insistence that Mitaka’s ambitions rise only as high as serving directly under Hux.

Kylo ‘ _This-model’s-scrawny-legs-are-not-to-my-taste_ ’ Ren.  
How dare he.

Hux glances at the first image and fiddles with the mirror’s record setting to get the camera to the correct height. He remembers the leering photographer crouching or lying and angling the shot while calling out innuendo-laden jokes to make the models laugh. The whole page of images— _Cavorting Cadets_ —looks like a beach party. Once he’s satisfied that he can recreate the shot in the privacy of his own suite, Hux returns to the mirror, looks away and pulls on the cord to unfasten the belt of his robe. The robe falls open. Soft silk slips easily from his shoulders and slides down his arms to pool in a curve around his feet. Hux forces his gaze to meet that of his reflection and he sneers at space-pale skin with an unhealthy-looking sheen. His shoulders seem broader when he stands at parade rest and his chest has filled out a little compared to the photographs, but his waist and hips are still narrow and the length of his legs is accentuated by their slenderness.

“Well then, Hux,” he instructs his image. “If we are going to do this we had better do it quickly.”

Some of the poses are difficult to recreate and Hux needs a few tries, but eventually he puts his robe back on, deactivates the camera function and pulls out the memory chip he’s stored the images on. He takes the chip and the catalogue page to his desk, slots the chip into his personal datapad and calls up the first image. One by one, Hux scrutinises the pairs of poses and notes with a deepening scowl that the only real difference is that the fresh young cadet has grown older, stiffer and is every bit as physically unimpressive as before. Hux ejects the datachip, crushes it with a paperweight and crumples the pieces into the flimsi before tossing the whole lot into the incinerator chute, then goes to bed.

He’s seething because of Ren’s cruel jibe and the poor sleep it caused when he’s on his way to the bridge next morning. Mitaka is waiting for him outside his office and Hux returns his salute with a grimace.  
“Tell the crew to prepare for an inspection in ten minutes,” Hux snaps. Mitaka stands ramrod straight and comms the order through to Captain Opan, but does not return to his weapons console. Hux sighs. “Well?”  
“Um, General Hux Sir, may I, um, have a word?”  
Hux grits his teeth and nods once. Mitaka follows him into the office and stands at attention until ordered to be at ease, an instruction Hux wonders if Mitaka is capable of following.  
“Well then. One word, lieutenant. Only one, and I am counting.”  
“Sorry!”  
Hux glares as Mitaka, red-faced, fixes his gaze on the wall somewhere over Hux’s left shoulder.  
“Sorry?” Hux leans forward and Mitaka leans back. “You’re SORRY?”  
“Yessir! I found the picture in my gym locker and I didn’t know what to do.” Mitaka’s words tumble now they’ve started. “I think someone slipped it under the door and I couldn’t just put it in the recycling bin in case someone else saw it and I couldn’t leave it there because... just _because_ and I didn’t know what to do about it!”  
Mitaka takes a breath and holds it for a few seconds. Hux sighs and shakes his head. “I actually believe you, Mitaka. What in all the galaxy made you hand it over to Kylo Ren?” Mitaka shoots Hux a look of terror and pulls his collar open to show a ring of purpling skin just out of sight. Hux _oohs_ in sympathy. “Well next time something like this happens, not that it will, come to me first. Dismissed.”

Mitaka turns to leave but something he said finally filters through and drops into Hux’s mind.  
“Wait!”  
Mitaka freezes then slowly turns.  
“You said it was left in your gym locker.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
Hux frowns thoughtfully. “You use the gym regularly?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Does your official physical training programme not suffice?”  
“Yes sir! It is perfectly adequate. However I...”  
“You...?” Hux gestures for Mitaka to continue, inwardly amused by Mitaka’s shifting-eyed embarrassment.  
“I would like to appear more muscular. I apologise for the vanity, sir.”  
“I see. You perform exercises that help you to build muscle?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Well then,” Hux taps his datapad and brings up the physical training schedules. “The gymnasium on deck six is available after besh-shift. I want you to show me.”


	3. Touch too much

Hux arrives at the gymnasium bang on time. Mitaka has been there for half an hour already and has a sheen of sweat on his face and shoulders where pale, bare skin is allowed to show. Hux has changed into his physical training kit in the privacy of his suite so all he has to do is shed his outermost layer. He folds his soft training top and loose leggings onto a bench and raises one eyebrow at his lieutenant.

“Well then, let’s get started.”  
“Yes, sir. This way.” Mitaka motions Hux over to a clear floor area. There is nobody else in the gymnasium—Hux booked it for his exclusive use—and Hux follows. Mitaka stands facing his most superior officer.  
“Um. A warm up. Are you, um, familiar with—“  
“Just get on with it!”  
“Yes, sir.” Mitaka keys a command into the wall panel. “If that is what you require. Please, copy my movements.”

Mitaka leads Hux in a sequence of exercises that start easy and grow to punishing intensity. By the time Mitaka lets Hux rest a little, sweat is pouring down his face and he feels like his heart and lungs might explode. Mitaka, Hux decides, is worth keeping. And worth keeping silent.  
“I assume you are aware of the conditions of this... arrangement?” Hux says, sitting on the floor mats and heaving in breaths as if there is a problem with life support. Mitaka nods, face serious.  
“Oh yes, sir. I am honoured by your trust in me and I assumed that this session was... confidential.” Hux nods and Mitaka nods back. “I have not mentioned a word to anyone.”  
“Good.” Hux struggles to his feet and shakes out his arms. “Now. I want to build strength in my legs. Show me.”

Hux watches, copies and takes notes. If he stares at Mitaka’s thighs it is with an eye of appraisal only, and Mitaka’s very tight and excessively short exercise-wear is of no importance. Hux thanks Mitaka and retires to his own chambers to produce for himself a schedule of physical exercise that would make an athlete balk.

So it should be no surprise to Hux that after only three weeks of intense and unaccustomed physical activity, he is limping. Mitaka watches covertly from the weapons console as General Hux walks carefully along the observation platform and stands at parade rest, watching his bridge team work. Kylo Ren’s holographic face flickers into existence and startles Hux, and Mitaka notices his wince of pain as he turns suddenly to face the Supreme Leader’s image.  
“Leader Ren! To what do I owe—“  
“General! I require your presence.”  
“I am—“  
“You are _not_ needed on the bridge. Come to my suite. Now!”  
“Very well, Supreme Leader. I will be there as soon as—”  
“Now!” 

Hux feels his body jerk forward as if pulled and he starts to move, then falters with a stifled cry of pain. He’s released immediately and he stumbles, landing sideways on the floor. Hux looks up to see Ren’s frown fading with something that doesn’t look like anger. It takes him a moment to struggle to his feet. Nobody dares assist although Mitaka steps forward then thinks better of it and returns to his post.  
“Well then,” says Hux once he has dusted off his embarrassment. “I will go and see what the Supreme Leader requires. Opan, you have command until I return.” 

It takes Hux a few minutes to reach Ren’s suite and as he waits to be granted admission he steels himself for an argument. But when the door opens, Ren is not glowering at him. In fact, Ren is absent. Hux walks in and waits.   
“Through here,” Ren’s voice calls from the door at the back of the formal meeting room. Hux walks around the conference area and goes into the passage that leads to Ren’s private chambers. Ren’s head looks out from a doorway. “In here,” he says, and Hux follows. When he enters the room, he stops and stares. Instead of the office area he was expecting had this suite been an exact mirror of his own, there is a padded couch like the ones in medbay, a small trolley-table and no other furniture. Ren drapes a large towel over the vinylplast surface then pats it.  
“Lie here. Face up.”  
Hux is still staring. Eventually he finds words to express his thoughts.  
“Have you gone completely mad?”

Ren laughs. “Not as mad as the man who does no exercise for years beyond marching along corridors, and then launches into a physical regime that would bring the hardiest ‘trooper to their knees. I’m impressed that you lasted this long without permanent injury.” He pats the couch again then waves his hand. “Remove your uniform and lie here. You will feel better. Trust me.”  
Hux glares at Ren. “Get out of my head,” he says, but he follows the instruction, lying back on the couch wearing only his underwear and feeling a flush of heat on his face and neck. Ren fiddles with a bottle on the trolley, rubs his hands together and lays them on Hux’s right thigh. Hux flinches at the first touch and relaxes into the warmth once Ren settles into a smooth rolling and kneading motion. Hux closes his eyes and soon Ren moves to his left thigh then instructs Hux to roll over and strokes, rubs then kneads his calf muscles.  
“Mmm, you’ve developed muscle bulk here,” Ren says, slapping the bulge of Hux’s left gastrocnemius. “And in your quads. Whatever you’ve been doing in the gym is effective.” Hux doesn’t reply. Ren moves up to massage his hamstrings. “Do you plan to continue with this lunacy?”

Hux grits his teeth. He would leap off the couch but for three things:  
One. His muscles ache so badly he has to think about every movement in advance.  
Two. What Ren is doing feels glorious.  
Three. As a result of this, Hux has an erection.

“I plan to continue with a programme of physical training that will—“  
“Don’t. It doesn’t suit you.”  
Ren shifts his attention to Hux’s lower back and Hux groans. They are silent for a minute.  
“Why not?” asks Hux as Ren’s hands trace slow figure-eight loops across the back of his waist. Ren sighs and his hands still.  
“Because it’s not you. It makes you feel... false. It’s a disguise and I don’t like it.”   
“Says the man who wore a mask for five years.”  
Ren laughs and his hands move again, slipping under Hux’s underwear to massage his gluteal muscles. Hux lets out a yelp and Ren pulls his hands away.  
“Your muscles are very tight.”  
“I kriffing know!” Hux doesn’t mean to yell but the combination of shock and embarrassment breaks down his control.  
“This will help,” Ren insists. Hux sighs.  
“I hardly think, Supreme Leader, that you having your hands on my arse is an appropriate part of our working relationship.”  
“Ah.” Ren steps away. Hux pushes himself up onto his elbows and looks at Ren, noting his downcast face and raised hands. As he makes his decision, Ren grins and Hux pretends not to have seen. He settles down again, closes his eyes and gives in to Ren’s attention.   
“I did not mean,” says Hux, “that you should stop.”


End file.
